Has there ever been delight? She smiled then sighed
and turned away. To hide his fright, he smiled then sighed.
Trembling she turned back. Her eyes avoiding his,
she asked what could possibly make it right. He smiled then sighed.
Perhaps a warm embrace, a tender kiss, loving words
could bridge the gap. It might; she smiled then sighed.
It had been perfect, the rose scented air, the golden lamp
the indigo of deepening night. She smiled then sighed.
Why had he not seen it before, the disguised restraint,
the muscles of her body ever tight. He smiled then sighed.
She longed to be loved but not by him and knowing
he knew, her face contrite, she smiled then sighed.
It could not be helped she murmured. I like you as a friend
and there it is, ordinary and so trite. He smiled then sighed.
She let him take her hand, hold it closely to his heart
to stop her from taking flight. She smiled then sighed.
We have been kind of lovers, she said, and so very kind
but no Catherine, no passion’s height. They smiled then sighed.
*Catherine Eranshaw, Wuthering Heights.
